Truth be told, I’m still a bit on the squeemish side when acknowledging a wrongdoing, even 30 years later. Lucklily, I had accomplices in this endeavor so blame can’t lie solely on me.

Ridge Reader and his family were from ‘Below the bridge’, in other words, Detroit. They had a small vacation home and garage adjacent to our property in the U.P. and it was our pleasure when they asked us to ‘look over the place’ while they were away.

A garage!!! US boys would bring back snowmobile parts we reclaimed from rock piles in neighboring farmers fields then force them into hodge podge form. We were very creative and even got a few sleds running.

That’s where the issue of not having any gas or money started to become an issue. Luckily for us, there was also a VW Bug stored in the garage and we decided that as a form of payment for us ‘watching over the place’, we should be able to pilfer some gas. And so we did and it’s where this confessional starts.

“So Ridge,” I started talking with a smile on my face from the numerous beers we had at the bar. “I got sumfin to tell ya.” And this is when things went South.

Ridge moved North and became a resident and business owner once he retired and it was at his establishment where I started my admittance.

“Yeah?” Says Ridge, “what’s up?”

“So remember 20 years ago when you guys came back from Detroit?”  “Why do you Yoopers always say Detroit? We were from Dearborn!” Exclaims Ridge. “Yeah, same thing, but as I was saying… You guys came back from Detroit… err, Dearborn and you decided to take your VW Bug for a drive and then ran out of gas 3 miles from home and you had to walk back to get a gas can then borrow gas from the neighbors since all yours was mysteriously gone. Then you had to walk the 3 miles back to the car with the half full can only to find 3 guys trying to steal the car by pushing it down the road and you had to chase them down and swear at them. And you were really mad and then had to drive into town just to buy more gas. Remember all this?”

Ridge is now very agitated that I brought up this lingering painful memory and is red faced. “Yeah!! What about it?”

I’m still smiling for some dumb reason and say, “It was da brudders and I, we needed gas for our snow machine and ‘borrowed’ it from the VW Bug. And oh, while I’m at it, You had some good Gin and Vodka so what we borrowed from the bottles we put water in them to make up the difference so you wouldn’t notice. “Whew, glad I got that off my chest.” I then sheepishly picked up my head to peek at Ridge.

“You guys did all that??!!” He screams… “Yeah, sorry,” says the now really meek me.. “Let me buy you a beer,” says me. Too late, Ridge already walked away instead of punching me in the nose…

See? I shoulda kept my yapper closed, some things just need to be kept in ‘the vault’ but since I often like yapping on, it gets me in trouble.

This next confessional hurts bad and shows my lack of character at That time in my life.

OK, here goes.

Dare I was, bow hunting at Andersons and a nice 7 point came in and I shot it. I climb down, go get the truck, park it, locate the dead deer and field dress the animal.

This is where my memory is really good or really bad. I remember having ‘The Knife’, in my hand but had to climb on the tailgate of the truck and hoist the deer into the truck bed. I remember taking a mental note that under no circumstances should I take my eyes off ‘The Knife’. I placed it on the bumper of the truck, got the deer situated, shut the tailgate and drove home.

Please refrain from judging as I go on.

“Yeah…, Pappy,” says I, “Saw that ‘No Good, Rotten, Thieven’ neighbor kid slinking around here again!”

“Who? Dat Sparagen kid from down da road?”

“Yep,” say me as I start in on my road to perdition.

‘The Knife’, was my Dads since he was a teenager, he used it every deer season and it was razor sharp and his good luck charm.

‘The Knife’, did not stay on the bumper of the truck as I drove home and ‘might have’ become lost, possibly by me. However, I absolutely, positively, could not take blame for it. I was skert bad of the arse whoopin that would surely follow so this is why the blame had to be diverted off me and towards the poor innocent neighbor kid. (Remember, no judging)

A month goes by and its getting close to the start of firearm deer season. Pappy would get his gear in order two weeks prior.

“Where’s my knife?” says he.

“Huh, what knife?” says me.

“The knife you used when you shot your 7 point,” says he as He starts getting riled up. “Oh, dat one. Well… I used it, never took my eyes off it, cleaned it, then put it on the window sill on the porch. I’m positive that’s where I put it,” says the squirming me.

“It’s not there and if you lost my knife I’m gonna kick your arse so bad yer nose bleeds!!!” says the fuming Pappy.

Luckily, I would mention the ‘No good neighbor kid’ slipping in and out of the shadows of our house just about every other day so Pappy was already wary of him.

“I’m tinkin’ dat neighbor kid took it,” says me.

“Who?!!” yells Pappy.

“Dat Sparagen kid who has been lurking around here.” says the dishonest me.

Pappy is looking at me intently and I put on the dumb teenage look. He’s mad, real mad, but doesn’t know what to think. Luckily, my previous antics of setting up the neighbor kid proved too good and Pappy became sure his knife was stolen by Sparagen.

Ooohhh, The Shame…. Ghaaa, that hurt to recall. If my kids read this please remember its all made up. Jeez, what have I learned? OK, it’s all true, let the judging begin.